Alcatraz versus the Knights of Crystallia (27 page)

"I think you did wonderfully,
”
Folsom said to Himalaya.
"Ten out of ten on a scale of pure, majestic effectiveness."

Prince Rikers sniffed at that.
"Excuse me," he said, then
handed me the Forgott
en Language book and walked away –
"What was that about?" Himalaya asked.

"I think Folsom just reminded the prince that he was a
book critic," Bastille said.

Folsom sighed. "I don't want to make people mad
. I
just . . . well, how can people get better if you don't tell them
what you honestly think?"

"I don't think everyone wants to hear what you honestly
think, Folsom," Himalaya said, laying a hand on his arm.

"Maybe I could go talk to him," Folsom said. "You know,
explain myself."

I didn't think the prince would listen, but I didn't say
anything as Folsom walked after Rikers.
Himalaya was
watching after the determined critic with fondness.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?" I asked her.

Himalaya turned, blushing.
Bastille immediately
punched me in the arm.

"Ow!" I said.
(My T
a
lent never seemed to work when
Bastille is doing the punching.
Perhaps it thought I deserved
the punishment.)
"Why'd you do that?"

Bastille rolled her eyes.
"
Y
ou don't need to be so blunt,
Smedry."

"You're blunt all the time!" I complained.
"
W
hy's it
wrong when I do it?"

"Because you're
bad
at it, that's why.
Now apologize for
embarrassing the young woman."

"It's all right," Himalaya
said, still blushing.
"But, please,
don't say such a thing.
Folsom is just being kind to me
because he knows I feel so lost in Free Kingdoms society.
I
don't want to burden him with my silliness."

"But, he said
–
gak!"

"He said 'Gak'?" Himalaya asked, confused.
She obvi
ously hadn't seen Bastille step forcefully on my toe in the
middle of my sentence.

"Excuse us," Bastille said, smiling at Himalaya, then
towing me away.
O
nce we were at a safe distance, she
pointed at my face and said, "Don't get involved."

"Why?" I demanded.

"Because they'll work it out on their own, and they don't
need you messing things up."

"But I talked to Folsom and he likes her too!
I
should tell her about it so they can stop acting li
ke love
sick crocodiles."

"Crocodiles?"

"What?" I said defensively.
"Crocodiles fall in love.
Baby
crocodiles come from
somewhere
.
An
y
w
ay, that's beside the
point.
We should talk to
those two and settle this misun
derstanding so they can get on with things."

Bastille rolled her eyes.
"How can you be so clever some
times, Smedry, but such an
idiot
other times?"

"That's unfair, and you
–
" I stopped.
"Wait, you think
I'm clever?"

"I said you're clever
sometimes
,” she snapped.
"Unfortunately, you're annoying
all the
time
. If you
mess this u
p
, I'll . . . I don't know.
I'll
cut off your
thumbs and send them to the crocodiles
as a wedding present.

I crinkled
m
y brow. "Wait. What?"

She just stalked away.
I watched her go, smiling.

She thought I was clever.

I stood in a h
a
ppy stupor for a few minutes.
Finally
,
I
wandered back over to Sing and Himalaya.

". . . think about it," Himalaya was saying.
"It's not the
Librarian
part that's a problem, it's the
evil
part.
I could
start a self-help program.
World-dominating Cultists
Anonymous or something like that."

"I dunno,"
S
ing said, rubbing his chin.
"
S
ounds like you
have an uphill battle."

"You Free Kingdomers need to be educated about this
as much as the Librarians do!"
S
he smiled at
me as I arrived.
“
Anyway, I feel that we should organize the rest of these
books. You
know, for consistency's sake.”

I looked down at the book in my hands.
"Do what you
want," I said.
"I intend to take this someplace safe.
W
e've
probably wasted too much time as it is."

"But what if there are other books in here that are
important?" Himalaya asked.
"Maybe that's
not
the one
your mother wants."

"It is," I said. Somehow I
knew
.

"But how would
she even know it was in here?”
Himalaya
asked.
"We didn't."

"My mother's resourceful," I said.
“
I
’
ll bet
she –“

At that moment, Sing tripped.

"
O
h, dear!" Himalaya said.
“
Are you all right
–
gak!"

S
he said this last part as I grabbed her by the arm and
dived for cover behind a stack of books.
To the side, I could
see Bastille doing the same with the prince and Folsom.
S
ing himself rolled over to my hiding place, then got to his
knees, looking nervous.

"What are you a
ll
doing?" Himalaya asked.

I put a finger to my lips, waiting tensely. Sing's T
a
lent,
like all of them, couldn't be trusted implicitly - however,
he had a good track record
of tripping right before danger
ous events.
His foresight
–
or, well, his clumsiness
–
had
saved my life back in the Hushlands.

I almost thought that this one was a false alarm.
And
then I heard it.
Voices.

The door to the room opened, and my mother
walked in.

Oh, wait.
You're still here?
I thought that last line was
going to end the chapter.
It seemed like a nice, dramatic
place.

Chapter isn't long enough yet?
Really?
Hum.
Well, guess
we'll move on, then.
Ahem.

I stared in shock.
That really was my mother, Shasta
Smedry.
She'd ditched the wig she'd been wearing at the
party and wore her usual blond hair up in a bun, along with
standard-issue horn-rimmed glasses.
Her face was so hard.
Emotionless.
Even more so than what I'd seen from other
Librarians.

My heart twisted.
O
ther than the faint glimpses of her
I'd caught earlier in the day, this was the first time I'd seen
her since the library in my hometown.
The first time I'd
seen her since . . . learning that she was my mother.

Shasta was accompanied by a dangerously large group
of Librarian thugs
–
oversized, muscle-bound types that
wore bow ties and glasses.
(Kind of like a genetic mutant
created by mixing nerd DNA with linebacker DNA.
I'll bet
they spend their free time giving themselves wedgies, then
stuffing themselves in lockers.)

Also with her was a young, freckled man about twenty
years old.
He wore a sweater-vest and slacks (Librarian-type
clothing) and had on glasses.
Tinted ones.

A Dark
O
culator
I thought.
S
o
I was right
. He would be
there to use the Translator's Lenses for her but this guy
didn't seem
nearly
as dangerous as Blackburn had been.
O
f
course, my mother more than made up for the difference.

But how had they gotten by the soldiers on the stairs?
It looked like
S
ing had bee
n right, and they'd been tunnel
ing into the stairwell.
S
houldn't we have heard sounds of
fighting?
What of the two knights on duty?
I itched to rush
out and see what had happened.

The group of Librarians stopped at the front of the
room.
I remained hidden behind m
y wall of books.
Bastille
had successfully pulled the prince and Folsom behind
another wall of books, and I
could just barely see her peek
ing around the corner.
She and I met each other's eyes, and
I could see the questions in her face.

Something very odd was going on.
Why hadn't we heard
any sounds of fighting from the stairwell?

"
S
omething very odd is going on here," my mother said,
her voice echoing in the quiet room.
"Why are all of these
books stacked like this?"

The freckled Oculator adjusted his spectacles.
Fortunately, they weren't red-tinted Oculator's Lenses
–
which
would have let him notice me
–
but
were instead
tinted with orange-and-blue stripes.
I didn't recognize
that type.

"The scholars I interviewed said the place was messy,
Shasta," he said in a kind of nasal voice, "but who knows
what they consider clean or messy?
These stacks look like
they were arranged and organized by a buffoon!"